Leather upon willow
It was lovely this weekend. So, in a rash moment, I decided to tackle our outside space. Yes, I know we’re completely surrounded by fields, but we do actually have a bit of garden before the wheat starts. Trouble is, having been thoroughly neglected, they’d kind of merged into one, so off I went to Woodies (B&Q but better) and arrived back, much to Hubby’s amusement, with a Flymo.
Half an hour of huffing and puffing later, it became patently obvious that the Flymo was not going to be man enough for the job, so after a quick begging session down the lane to the lovely Dave later, Hubby was all tooled up with a petrol strimmer and a fetching face mask. This worked much better and on Sunday, the boys christened it with that most English of pastimes, a gentle game of cricket:
#1 (bowling): ‘Howzat! That hit the stumps!’
#2 (batting): ‘No way, I’m still in’
#1: ‘You’re out, stop lying!’
#2: ‘It missed by a mile. Cheat’
#1: ‘Don’t call me a cheat you girl!’
This carried on until Hubby joined in, sorted out the argument, batted until it got dark and failed to declare even when his score hit 257. Much time was spent looking for the ball in the now knee-high wheat and there was even more huffing, puffing and name-calling than when they were playing on their own. Ah, Sundays with the family eh? Heaven.
